


On Anteros

by escspace



Category: Noblesse (Manhwa)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Blood Drinking, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Modern Ragar AU, Space AU, gross disgusting missionary marriage sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:21:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29890728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escspace/pseuds/escspace
Summary: On the planet Anteros, Karias and Rajak live a humble life, and Karias wishes do something special to honor their long time partnership.
Relationships: Karias Blerster/Rajak Kertia
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7
Collections: The Modern Kertia Expansion Pack: Keeping Up With the Kertias





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place within the same universe as the Modern Kertia stuff. Set far into the future, after Rajak has resolved most of his daddy issues.

"Now, how do you think this sounds?" At the underglowing bar counter, Karias sets down his heavy glass of potent 'C2H5OH Abridged' with a thunk, flicks his hair back, and clears his throat into a fist. " _My love—_ "

"That is disgusting." The cut of Regis K. Landegre's stare is hard and unforgiving, much like that of Gejutel, and at this point, a few stern lines of age have been etched around his eyes, made visible under the multicolored glow of the lights around them. Karias does not understand why the Landegre have such an affinity for appearing older; despite being his senior by nearly a millenia, it is Karias who looks to be a fledgling in comparison.

"You haven't even let me begin—much less finish!" Karias cries dramatically, tilting his head and then his glass back to finish the rest of the drink. It burns going down his throat, and he presses his lips tightly together to brace himself. "This tastes awful."

"Then why did you order it?"

"It has a lovely color."

Regis, appearing entirely unamused, easily downs his own glass of the same concoction, as though to size Karias up with the very flatness of his own expression. "I do not understand your apprehension, Sir Karias. You and Sir Rajak have been together for a long time now; something as simple as a spoken vow should not phase you, if it even matters at all at this point. I doubt there will be controversy over something so trivial."

Briefly, Karias makes an expression like he has been scandalized, like someone has disrespected his ancestors, like a cold drink has been tossed in his face, a ghastly expression. "No, no, Regis—it's about the _romance_ , you see. It's about sweeping him off his feet. It's about stunning him into silence—"

"He does not speak much in the first place."

"You're missing the point." Karias sighs with well meaning exasperation and checks the glass in his hand: empty. "The Landegre and their pigheadedness, I swear..." he laments to himself, though not outside of Regis's hearing. Neither of them mind even if Regis throws a gruff look towards him. "What is the old man of yours up to these days anyway?" Karias inquires, clinking ice against glass absently and distracting himself with watching how the shiny, irregular surfaces refract and reflect the bar's moody lights.

"He continues to assist Sir Raskreia with her governmental duties on Himeros."

"Of course." There is a pause, and then, "I've got it—"

Regis peers curiously.

Karias lifts his head as he summons both suave and pride. "How about this: _my dearest A—_ "

"That is still disgusting."

"You're no help at all."

* * *

It is the early morning and the sun has yet to rise completely, though there is a pretty shade of warm blue that peeks at them from the narrow space in between the window blinds. Karias snuggles closer to Rajak’s warm back, embracing him from behind slightly tighter and taking a deep breath pressed to the side of his neck. Rajak stirs awake at this and rests his hand on top of Karias’s possessive arm. “Good morning...” Karias murmurs, voice tenderly quiet but there is an extra lilt of glee to it. “Why don’t you go downstairs first? I’ll be with you shortly.”

Rajak does not say anything or move for a moment, clearly thinking upon the possible motivations behind this request, but he does not inquire further, by now used to his partner’s mundane antics. The comforters shift against each each other, making soft sounds like cool sand, as he slips out of the bed. Staring at the ceiling, Karias listens to the soft pad of footsteps against floor until it becomes distant and then silent. Mischief in the curve of his lips and the glint in his eye, he rolls over to the drawer on his side of the bed and from it, palms a little matte black box.

By the time he heads downstairs, he finds Rajak at his usual morning spot in their kitchen: seated on the wicker chair by their small, round table and looking over various things on the tablet resting in one hand; a bear shaped mug of warmed milk is in the other hand, and daintily, Rajak takes a sip. He eyes Karias curiously though without comment as he does so.

For himself, Karias receives a mug of coffee from their coffeemaker. Steam warms his fingers as he stirs in the creamer with a small, silver spoon before taking his own seat across from Rajak. To bask in such companionable silence and consume such modesty luxuries as milk and honey, as coffee and cream, in a home entirely of their own in a place so far away from Lukedonia—far from the planet of their origins—is quietly fantastical. There is something he finds perpetually wonderful between them, and he hopes to cradle it into the foreseeable eternity.

Rajak finishes his milk and is the first to speak. “You have something for me,” he states, a fact.

Karias laughs quietly. “Am I so easy to read?”

“You are not discreet.”

“So I’ve been caught red-handed.”

"Spit it out."

Karias droops his head, hair shifting across his cheek. "Really, Rajak, you're—" He sighs in mock defeat then slips a hand into his pocket to pull out the black box, which he holds in between them both, turning to face it towards Rajak. The lid tilts on its hinge as he snaps it open, and inside, tucked in velvet material, a pair of gold rings.

"This is..."

"In honor of our...partnership."

“A sentimental artifact—“

“Precisely.” He places the box onto the table and leans back in his seat, lifting his head and summoning a dramatic air about him. “Now, I know what you’re thinking: ‘how needless, how superfluous,’ but I’ve always been fond of this particular human tradition, and there’s no harm in it.” He leans forward again, closer to Rajak, all saccharin smile and affectionate eyes. “One for each of us, so that neither will ever forget the other.”

“That is absurd; I would not forget you, of all people.”

“I _know_ but—"

“Give me your hand.”

“Oh...”

Rajak has already retrieved one of the rings and holds it between two fingers as he gazes at Karias with an expression that expects utter and swift compliance, possessing a mildly militaristic quality that is familiar upon his features. Karias cannot help but huff in amusement, even if caught off guard by the sudden command, at how entirely Kertia-like Rajak is, even in this century, and how he continues to stare unamused at Karias’s own leisure. Finally, Karias give him his hand, likely much too slow for Rajak’s preference.

Though his hold is gentle, Rajak slips the ring onto Karias's finger without much ceremony. The cold slide of metal quickly warms to his skin, and the way Rajak's touch lingers on his fingers does not go unnoticed, betraying at least an ounce of sentimentality within the Kertia as well, regardless of how placid his exterior, as opposed to Karias, who indulges shamelessly within the moment, staring with blatant tenderness at the ring on his finger before returning his attention to Rajak himself, the one to whom his golden band ties.

He plucks the remaining ring from the box. "And now..." Karias begins as he reaches for Rajak's hand, cradling it though it might shatter, smooth, downy skin having been warmed in the little square of sunlight casted upon the quaint kitchen tablecloth. Onto Rajak's delicate finger, he slips the ring and holds it for a long while as he dips his head into a shallow bow, bringing his hand closer, like to whisper secrets to it, like to pray, like to take an oath. There is a hush that falls over them, and Rajak cannot tell if this breath bating air is something summoned by the particular Blerster quality Karias possesses that seeks to infect him with such things as romance or if it is simply Karias himself who performs with such magnetism.

He continues to speak: "Evermore will you blaze as does Promethean heat, sing sweetly as does Melpomene, my dearest half-god Achilles. Rise above me as do the suns, lull me as do the moons, with an enternity that will rival those of the stars..." Karias brings delicate knuckles to his lips with eyes casted downwards. Quieter, though with greater tenderness, he says, "And as for me? I will bask in your shine and rest in your shade, never to stray far from your reach, to orbit you as you pull upon me from the center of the universe, to behold your great force." Closer still, he brings his lips. The fleeting fog of his ghostly, reverent breath is captured by the gold band as he murmurs with finality, "And 'til death, and after, do us part..."

In the silence, he looks up, eyes enchantingly bright, smile bewitching, knowing of the spell he has casted upon Rajak. Then, he places a final kiss on Rajak's fingers, returns his hand to him, and rises from his seat. The ceremony ends.

Karias dons the pink apron draped over the back of his chair, as he has done nearly every day. Rajak watches him from his seat in silence. He watches and watches. Absently, before he even notices, he is gently twisting the ring back and forth around his finger, the feeling of the metal band novel to him and a constant reminder of the humble ritual that has just taken place. He notices that it glints in the sunlight every time he looks down to slice into the pancakes, topped with whipped cream and strawberries, that Karias has set in front of him. They finish their breakfast in peace, as they have done nearly every day.

* * *

At the thirteenth hour of the morning, the little bakery located at the heart of the human dominated city of Garros is open for business. As it lies on the bustling street that weaves into the glimmering academy campus, well known for the cadets that it houses, nearly every hour of everyday sees lively and colorful activity, shapes and sizes not always humanoid. This is routine, and Rajak has become accustomed to the daily hum of their pastry shop, from the quiet early morning hours spent cleaning and laying out all the cakes and breads and cooking tapioca to the chaos of the midday flurry of customers. But as he wipes down the countertop, there is something unusual that catches his eye: it is the ring on his finger. It smiles back at him, ever present.

He notices that it shines every time he raises his hand to open a cupboard; notices that it clicks against surfaces whenever he is careless or begins to forget that it is there; notices that a customer's eyes dart to his fingers when he hands them the little pink cake box tied off with blue ribbon. Their gaze flies to Karias, who is busy restocking sandwiches, and then returns to Rajak. They smile at him knowingly.

Behind the counter, Rajak is gently twisting the ring back and forth around his finger again. There is warmth on his face as the next customer approaches. He is not one to indulge in many distractions, but this one, he finds himself permitting.

* * *

Nearing the closing hour, the shop is empty save for the two of them, and Rajak places both hands on the countertop and sighs, tilting his head downwards and closing his eyes; admittedly, he is not the type to be very skilled in handling hoards of chirping and chattering people for hours at a time, and occasionally, he even finds himself worn slightly thin from this sort of business, so unlike his prior duties as clan leader, when such a thing as a clan leader held more prominence within state functions. He is not particularly built for this, not as well as his partner seems to be at least. His eyes flicker open when he feels Karias against his back, arms wrapped around his waist and lips on his neck, shameless even in the workplace. Rajak cannot help but feel something flutter within him.

"Long day, hm? Ready to head home?" Karias says, as considerate as ever.

Rajak places a hand on top of Karias's, and there it is again: the ring. He runs his finger over the thin metal band, marveling quaintly to himself at the thought that they both now wear such blatant visual reminders of each other—of belonging. He supposes, then, that there is something romantic about it after all, but he witholds from admitting this aloud and only hums to Karias's sentimental inquiry.

Karias lifts their hands together so that both rings catch the warm light. He admires them, turns them this way and that way, and beholds what wonderful and futile significance they bear.

When all the tables and display cases have been wiped and the lights have been dimmed and the aprons have been folded, they close up shop and return to their quiet home.


	2. Chapter 2

Karias lays him down upon their bed as tenderly as ever; he has always regarded Rajak as someone worth treating with utmost care, given what he has witnessed of his family history, but tonight, there is special reverence in the act. Perhaps it is the way his lingering fingers trace his skin as they work down his collar and part his shirt. Perhaps it is the way he kisses his cheek, then his forehead, but not yet his lips. Perhaps it is his eyes that watch him as sensitive telescopes observe deep into the universe, gaze fixated on nothing else, obsessed with nothing else. Rajak feels watched, but when it is Karias who does so, he cannot bring himself to mind terribly.

At the back of his mind dawns the realization that he has always been watched by none other, seen at both his worst and his best. As tides turn and tectonic plates shift, moons wax and wane, stars blaze and cool, eons pass, it is Karias who holds him in observation as though he might disappear if unobserved, as though to ground him to this reality. It makes Rajak feel more precious than he cares to put into words, so he does not and only sighs imploringly when Karias’s hand finds his thighs and then the waistband of his sleeping pants. When Karias slips his fingers inside to feel and work him to hardness, that familiar touch is infuriatingly patient and yielding, and Rajak predictably urges him onward with simultaneously wordless and shameless motions: to clench his thighs around Karias’s hand, to shift his hips towards him, to blush and breathe with fervor.

For Karias, Rajak—who lives with fire and fury, who blazes and soars as does the rapid expansion of supernovas, who might one day swallow star systems within his humble greatness—is one he finds endlessly fascinating. For all of his trials, there is no other whom Karias thinks would emerge so powerfully, not due to his particular noble blood with which he was born, but due to the sheer force of will hard won: a tragic determination that fuels him in all pursuits. For his striking, provocative, profound Rajak, Karias will tend to this supple, slight body: divest him of his clothes, bend down to kiss him like butterflies in all places—flutter over skin that heats beneath him—touch him, slide careful, wet fingers inside while his other hand maps the contours of his sides and hips and then the eager, heated length between them that still twitches so earnestly upon the slightest gesture. For his terrible, captivating Rajak, to whom he has vowed a small slice of eternity, he will give him all pleasures that he is able.

Smooth, toned thighs wrapped around his waist, Karias at last slides into him, himself becoming wrapped by tight heat which accepts him so easily.

Rajak has always been responsive, body so easily alighting with sensation, so eager to flush and shiver, to clench and unclench around him. The soft sighs and subtle tremors so alluring, like siren song that Karias will not dare to deafen to any degree. He listens closely, watches closely, and presses them both closer together, bodies twining like how souls might on some other embellished plane of existence. Lace fingers into soft, pale hair, pull gently, bring their mouths together until breathless—these things, Karias performs with ritual familiarity, and the quiet sounds of their bodies gradually build until Rajak is wet between his legs, slicked and profane, and until he is shuddering, gasping, and calling needily, irresistably: a sound and song Karias has no right mind to resist. The soft, feeble sound that Rajaks makes into his mouth when he kisses him and moves within his clutching body, drawing pleasure from Rajak's Renaissance figure, does unspeakable things to Karias's own psyche.

He slides home again and again, pressing against parts that make Rajak drop his composure; even if only momentarily, it is a sight and an experience Karias is always honored to indulge in, and it is to Rajak whom Karias will always return, the rings they both wear a symbol of that promise. Both of his hands find Rajak's—so slim and fae-like compared to his own— and their fingers lock together, clutching like to lifelines, pressing against the faint ridges of those twin gold bands. Rajak holds on with earnest, nearly bruising force, and Karias can almost feel each thrust reflected back at him in the way Rajak curls his fingers and squeezes upon each gratifying drag within such that his nails dig faint crescents into the back of Karias's hands.

He begins to move slower, each thrust longer, deeper, appreciating every inch of each other. Karias takes his time, breathes deeper, his own face well flushed by now and himself stunned in wordlessness despite his usual penchant for verbose theatrics. Rajak is lovely, as lovely as he's ever seen him, as lovely as ever. He cannot, without a shadow of doubt, tear his eyes away. There is that rosy flush, that small, open, needy mouth, those long lashes and beguiling, glassy eyes, and Karias knows he would watch all of these things forever.

_"Karias..."_ Rajak utters, all breath that trembles so provocatively, as inviting as the shade of trees on warm afternoons that they have repeatedly spent in each other's company. Karias sheathes himself completely to rest deep within Rajak's soft, convulsing heat and to feel him shudder through his orgasm, pressing close and hands clutching each other tightly as though in fear of even a second of separation. Rajak's legs wrap around him tighter and more desperately as his fingers curl fiercely into his hands for support, the rolling tides of his climax overwhelming.

Rajak gasps and then swallows. "Keep...keep going..." he implores. He closes his eyes in concentration, lashes casting shadows onto his cheeks.

Karias obliges, wishing to give things to Rajak just how he wants them, tonight and all nights. When Rajak comes for the second time, Karias follows shortly after, though, of course, this does not slow either of them in the least; the slide within him only becomes easier and more vulgar.

If a noble has ever experienced something akin to hunger, Rajak supposes that it is like this: there is mysticism in blood, a quiet roar at the back of their minds that lulls them, that pulls them closer, that beckons fangs forward to press deep within flesh, past skin, to tap into warm streams of blood and sink themselves within each other until all is quiet and engulfing—such that they might rest peacefully at the bottom of oceans. Rajak reaches forward, coiling his arms around Karias's shoulders like serpents in gardens, evocative of dangerous pleasures still unknown to the both of them. "Karias—" he pulls him closer, desperately, strained at though no matter how much they might press their bodies together, he continues to yearn, no longer satisfied with mere bodily closeness. "This is...I want..." to sink deeper still.

Karias—bright, beguiling Karias, inventive in such matters as romance, sighs with great feeling, expression indicative of being happily overwhelmed himself. "Rajak..." he utters against his ear. "Might we do something terrible?" he offers.

“Anything...” Rajak answers, perhaps foolishly, though he is somewhat aware of Karias's intentions and finds himself holding his breath in utterly captivated anticipation. He parts his lips easily for when Karias brings his fingers to them and slips inside, becoming wet with saliva that his tongue spreads onto his skin. Rajak, with all of his rosy shamelessness, licks and sucks at those intrusive fingers with no remorse, groaning needily around them, every note beckoning to a maddening degree, he knows.

"Drink," Karias compels, somewhat breathless.

The Kertia have have always possessed fangs particularly long and slim, curved as daggers, snake-like in form once fully extended into potent needle points. For Karias, in this moment, Rajak obliges and presents their entire length to him, opening his needy mouth wide in a way that allows light to gleam off of those curved, dagger shapes. Then, he sinks: presses fangs easily and deeply into Karias's hand as fingers reach down into his swallowing throat. Blood, warm and overwhelming, washes his tongue.

Karias groans low, a rumble in his chest, the subtle reverberation of the effect Rajak has on him, as Rajak drinks, and then Rajak feels lips at his neck and then the hard tips of fangs, only slightly more blunt in comparison to his own. They tear tenderly into him, into his neck, to seek his blood in return: the sacrilegious sort of exchange.

_There he is: back in Lukedonia, sitting on the sun-warmed stone of the garden bench eons ago, watching the seemingly perpetual trickle the fountain's water. Rajak's chin rests in his hands; he is deep in thought, expression serious and troubled according to the eyes that watch him, first from a distance then up closer._ _His long asymmetrical fringe casts mottled shadow shapes on his pale face._

_There he is: standing proud and tall over the one who watches him. The new clan leader of the Kertia Clan, Rajak promises to himself, desperately, achingly, to prove his own worth and the worth of his clan, for his father's sake—if for no one else—for the father who left him._

_There he is: that pitiful, prideful, and earnest fool._

Rajak's past branches, memories of himself from outsider eyes—Karias's eyes—run parallel to his own, and he realizes, in colors almost beyond his own comprehension, that the one who observes him now, in the present—with those clear, beguiling, infuriating, loathesome, loving eyes—has never neglected to keep him within his sights, field of vision encompassing dimensions of himself that Rajak would show none other—that none other would be able to perceive in the first place.

There is Karias: holding Rajak in observation and unfailingly gifting him his vast compassion and bearing with him even when he is most difficult. There is Karias: insufferable, steadfast, and kind.

There are feelings, not solely his own, winding through him, breaking above his head like waves, dragging him deeper like rip currents, flooding his lungs until Rajak is gasping as though it is life itself that blooms from his mouth. As souls surge, the universe seemingly vanishes save for the two of them; past, present, future converge into a single point. When he breathes, Karias breathes with him: life shared in the most impossible and intimate of ways.

Like a constant low hum, Rajak has always known that when he turns, he will more than likely find Karias beside him, but before him now is symphony. He is frozen, starstruck, upon rerealizing this age old fact, feeling ever smaller before the expanse of Karias's compassion. Rajak realizes that he has never once been alone.

There is love: great, grand, and grotesque.

Rajak weeps for it dearly, face turned away and partially covered to hide what tragedies are written upon his expression. Beyond his own control, he gasps, breath hitching in lovely and frightening ways.

He does not see the way Karias looks at him—does not need to to know that Karias is just as torn on the inside, the borders of his being raw and aching from where they have torn themselves apart to join with each other like so. No further words are exchanged between them; none are needed at this point.

Karias settles beside him, holds him as close as possible, and buries his face against Rajak's neck. He sighs, forever longing. Their hands overlap, and Karias brushes a thumb across the ring on Rajak's finger. An exhausted silence finds them.

There they are. Let them lie together.


End file.
